


Ache

by babybrotherdean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dissociation, Episode: s12e19 The Future, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 23:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10774527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: The outside doesn't match the inside, and Dean tries to fix it.





	Ache

**Author's Note:**

> I kept thinking about Dean in the episode, and especially about his poor broken arm, and then about how weird it must be to have an angel heal you from such immense pain, and what kind of after-effects that might have, and... here we are and stuff. 
> 
> The self-harm is relatively mild (scratching with fingernails), I just wanted the tag there as a warning.

Dean’s arm hurts.

He knows it isn’t supposed to. It’s just a phantom pain; an old, lingering side-effect of angel healing that he thought he’d gotten over years ago. He’d felt the bones in his arm crack, give out under the force of Dagon’s strike. The pain had been immense, then, shooting down to his fingertips and up to his shoulder, leaving him no choice but to drop the Colt- and fuck, he still feels bad about that, feels sick low in his gut with the memory of it being melted down before his eyes- but it’s gone, now, physically. His bones have been stitched back together, his skin is whole once more, and still-

There’s still this inexplicable ache, and he hates it.

It’s like a constant reminder of that moment, the way Castiel took the time to heal his injuries only to leave him with another crack in his heart, wide and bleeding for every lie told, every betrayal that’s left him struggling to breathe. There’s the hole in his chest, and then there’s the pain in his arm- the one without a logical source, and the one that’s digging in deep, trying to get him to break, telling him over and over again that it isn’t real, that he shouldn’t be feeling this way, that he should know better by now than to let himself be vulnerable and soft-

He’s alone in his room, and the door is open, and he digs his fingernails hard into his skin. Five points of contact that blend into one, and he drags them, watches desperately as they leave little trails of white in their wake. They redden in a matter of seconds, and his nails aren’t nearly long or sharp enough to draw blood like this, but it’s _something_.

Dean gets lost that way, vision blurring at the edges as he scratches at the place where his arm broke, sinking into a mindless drive to make the outside match the inside. His skin is turning angry-red, more sensitive the longer he goes, and maybe he’ll even break through it, soon. Maybe he’ll see some blood, and maybe that’ll be enough to fix this.

He’s yanked out of his trance when somebody knocks on his doorframe, and he still can’t see quite right when he jerks his head up, but it’s impossible to mistake Sam’s form in the doorway, coming towards him as he tries to blink himself back into awareness. “Dean?”

“Uh- hey,” Dean manages a beat too late, and he tries to shake himself out of it, folding his arms over his chest in a move that probably draws more attention to them than it hides anything. “What’s up?”

Sam doesn’t answer him right away, crossing the floor and then very carefully reaching out, long fingers curling around Dean’s wrist. Dean doesn’t fight it when his brother tugs his arm free and turns it over, making a soft noise when he finds the patch of skin that Dean’s scratched raw. Dean can’t look Sam in the eye, but he feels the bed dip when Sam settles next to him, and his fingertips are cool when they brush over the overheated spot.

“What happened?”

Dean doesn’t know what to say, so he keeps his eyes on the floor, swallowing hard while his brother pets careful fingertips over his skin. Sam sighs after a moment, then wraps an arm around Dean and manhandles him until they’re both lying down. Dean just goes with it, and then he’s bundled up against his brother’s side, his face tucked into the crook of Sam’s neck and breathing in the scent of the not-so-secret shampoo.

“We’re gonna get through this,” Sam tells him all soft, one of his hands moving now to rub up and down Dean’s back. “I, um- I know it’s hard, and I’m right there with you, but… we’re gonna be okay. You don’t need to…”

He trails off, and Dean fills in the blanks on his own. _You don’t need to hurt yourself_. They’ve had this conversation before, sometimes with the roles reversed, and it always goes the same way.

_Don’t hurt yourself. I’m here. I’ve got you._

The rest of it goes unspoken, and Dean stays right where he is, quiet and content curled up with his brother. His arm is still aching, and there’s the surface wound now, too, but- but being with Sam like this makes it a little bit easier to drown out the hurt that’s deeper inside, sharp at all its edges like shattered glass and waiting for him to cut himself on its pieces.

Whatever happens, wherever they go from here, however much more they might lose in this disaster that they call an existence… he won’t let this break him. Not this. Not yet.

He’s still got so much more left to do, and with the heartbeat that runs strong and steady right under his ear, he won’t need to do any of it by himself. Not as long as Sam’s still breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
